


Whispers [ABANDONED]

by valda



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Jealousy, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Oblivious Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:14:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3087638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distance can be rough, even when you can see the one you love whenever you want. Maybe especially then.</p><p>THIS FIC HAS BEEN ABANDONED AND WILL NOT BE COMPLETED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Second Data Point

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by WTNV episode 59, "Antiques," so there are spoilers through that episode.

"That sounds absolutely _delicious_ ," Cecil is saying, when Earl's hand is suddenly on top of his own on the desk.

"Oh, it is," Earl assures him.

Cecil politely slips his hand away so he can adjust the microphone. Earl has certainly always been friendly! "How long does it take to bake?"

Earl laughs. "You can't bake _German chocolate cake_ , Cecil," he chides gently.

"Oh, no, of course not," Cecil says quickly. "I knew that." He forces a chuckle, and Earl laughs again, and they are laughing together.

Cecil remembers laughing like this, and for the barest of instances his smile is real. Then something flickers into existence over Earl's shoulder.

At once Cecil is out of his chair, Earl forgotten, the show forgotten. He was--but they hadn't planned--so was he--?

"Carlos!" he gasps.

"Hi, Cecil," Carlos says, and there is something different about his voice. Like it's flatter. Duller.

"What--what are you doing here? Are you back from the desert otherworld?"

But even as he asks he is starting to recognize the increasingly familiar lack of substance to his boyfriend's form.

"No," Carlos says, and somehow his eyes don't meet Cecil's. At first they seem to fixate on the sound booth, and then the back of Earl's head. Earl hasn't moved; his hand is still resting on the desk where it fell after Cecil slipped his own hand away. He doesn't turn his head. He's looking at Cecil, but his face is blank, waiting.

"I am manifesting myself in your studio for--" And Carlos blinks. "Because science."

"Are we in danger?" Cecil asks quickly. He remembers the microphone and sits back down. "Listeners, we've just been wrapping up our latest cooking segment with my old friend Earl Harlan, sous chef at Night Vale's most prestigious new restaurant, Tourniquet. And our favorite scientist--" Something about the look on Carlos' face makes him stumble. "Um, Carlos, has just appeared with some news. Carlos, what can you tell us?"

"You remember that I discovered that the components of the rocks are of not of our world, but the composition of those components _is_ of our world." His voice is still dull.

"Yes," Cecil says, and finds that he's saying it rather shyly. "It was _very_ scientific."

Carlos looks at him then and Cecil suddenly can't breathe. His mouth works, but for once nothing comes out.

"Well," Carlos continues, and his eyes are cold and unfocused, like they're rejecting the sight of Cecil entirely, "I decided to see if I could create _other_ things from the things that make up the components of the rocks. And it turns out I could."

Cecil swallows, unable to wrench his gaze from Carlos' dead eyes. "That--that's great!" he says, hoping he sounds enthusiastic.

"Yes. It _is_ great," Carlos says, his voice a line extending into nothing, no modulation, no inflection. "So how are things here? Is this new cooking segment popular?"

"Oh! Yes," Cecil says. "At least, I think it's great. So it must be." The topics he chooses to discuss on the radio are usually great, after all. He has excellent journalistic and narrative instincts. It is something he is quite proud of.

"Great," comes Carlos' dull voice again.

"I don't know if you've met Earl," Cecil says, suddenly finding it strange that the former scoutmaster is just sitting there silently. "He and I went to school together."

At this, Earl finally turns around in his chair to look at Carlos. His hand slides off the table and onto Cecil's forearm.

"We were very close," Earl says helpfully, giving Cecil's arm a pat.

Cecil laughs. "Yes!" he says. "Very close. I'm sure you two would be good friends. Will be good friends."

Carlos is now staring at Earl's hand. "This proves nothing," he mutters, glancing to the side, almost as if someone is standing next to him. Cecil glances in that direction, just in case something else has manifested and is, well, less-than-visible. But if something _is_ there, Cecil can't perceive it.

"Oh," he says. "Well, of course, just because Earl and I were close doesn't _prove_ that you would be. But I like you both, so I think--"

"You like us both," Carlos repeats, raising his eyes again, only this time they're not dull and flat like his voice. They're on _fire_.

"...yes?" Cecil answers. "You're both very likeable."

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees Earl smiling. That's nice. It's good for friends to feel good.

But what's wrong with Carlos?

Because something is _certainly_ wrong; the last time he'd manifested had been _so_ much nicer than this, even if it _was_ extremely unprofessional.

"Um. Carlos?" he says.

"No, you're right; we're done," Carlos says, and looks away. "That was all I had to report. We'll talk later."

"Call me tonight--" Cecil is saying, but Carlos is already gone. "Um."

"...so as I was saying," Earl says, snapping Cecil out of a reverie that had lasted who knows how long, _so_ unprofessional!--"you don't _bake_ German chocolate cake. A few rites and a singular animal sacrifice are all that's required. I've even brought everything we need so we can do it right here..."

~

"I told you," says the man standing next to Carlos. "He was interested in you because you were new and interesting. Just like you were interested in Night Vale because it was new and interesting. But this place is _so_ much more interesting to you than Night Vale. And now that you're not there, he's found someone who's more interesting than you."

Carlos frowns in irritation in the direction of where the man's face probably is, hidden deep within the hood of a cloak. He isn't a hooded figure. But he is wearing a hood, at Carlos' request.

"It's fine," Carlos says gruffly, dropping to a seated position in the sand, not caring about getting it in his clothes...it's always in his clothes. "He was so lonely at first. It's good for him."

"You don't mind if he chooses Earl over you?"

Carlos crosses his arms over his knees, rests his chin on his forearms, and stares at the blinking red light on top of the mountain. "Of course I mind," he finally says. "But it's still not evident that that's what's happening. I have only observed two data points." There's today, and there's the first time Earl appeared on Cecil's show. Carlos has been listening, of course; he always listens.

It's unfair, he thinks, that he can see Cecil whenever he wants, that he can hear Cecil's show, but that Cecil only has their conversations. That is probably part of the distance he's feeling, the disconnect. Cecil can't go to a lighthouse and watch Carlos in one of the pictures hanging on the wall. Cecil can't tune his radio to a Science Channel and watch or hear Carlos work.

It's only natural that Carlos feels as close to Cecil as ever, but that Cecil is lonely. And there isn't a hell of a lot Carlos can _do_ about that.

And Carlos doesn't want Cecil to be lonely, so if spending time with that Harlan guy is helping, he isn't going to say anything about it. He _isn't_.

"If you don't mind," he says, "I'd like to get back to work. And you know Doug and Alisha don't particularly care for you."

"Of course," the man says, "though I can't imagine why."

"You can't imagine," Carlos chuckles. "Yeah, I'm sure you can't."

Carlos waits until the man is a speck in the distance. He's not sure where he goes when they're not talking, and he doesn't particularly care. Sighing, he pulls out his phone. Still whole, still connected to some otherworld wi-fi, still at 97% battery. And Carlos still hasn't figured out why.

He hasn't figured out much of anything.

 _I love you_ , Carlos types into Cecil's window. He hits send. Then he pushes himself to his feet and makes for the giant warriors' camp.


	2. Left Unsaid

Carlos has just pulled out his phone when the words _What was that about, anyway?_ appear on the screen. He grins, then grimaces.

_Sorry, sorry. That was severely bad timing. I just..._

He isn't sure what to say, so he sends what he has so far, then types

_Seeing you_

The cursor flashes at the end of the word "you" and Carlos can't think of a way to turn the phrase into a sentence, so he just hits send again.

Almost immediately, Cecil responds: _I feel the same._ And, a few seconds later: _To be honest, I rather enjoyed it._

Carlos feels a warmth in his belly that spreads up through his arms, down through his legs, and out to all fingers and toes. He smiles.

_Maybe I could...manifest again? At home?_

_Oh, CARLOS._

~

Carlos wakes up.

He is wrapped in sleeping blankets, swaddled against the desert cold in the masked army's camp--but, of course, far enough away to avoid one of the warriors rolling over in their sleep and killing him accidentally. He blinks, shakes his head to clear the cobwebs of the dream.

That wasn't how that day went, he thinks, though it should have been. He and Cecil had never had that conversation. Cecil hadn't actually texted him until much later in the evening--to let him know that he was safe after escaping the station and fighting his way home through packs of antiques.

It _should_ have gone differently, with Cecil texting him immediately after the show, and Carlos apologizing, and the two of them flirting and scheduling that late night manifestation.

But of course, as usual, Night Vale had had other plans.

Cecil had been exhausted, and Carlos had called and talked him to sleep, and that had been that. Carlos hadn't manifested since. Until yesterday.

_Yesterday._ Carlos groans, rolls onto his side, pulls out his phone. He'd thought he'd been doing all right, but _that_ manifestation had been _amazingly_ stupid. And he knows exactly why it happened.

Doug and Alisha and the rest of the masked army have become good friends, part of his life. They understand Carlos' love for Cecil, his excitement over scientific discoveries. But there's one thing they'll never really comprehend, and that's Night Vale.

Night Vale is the most scientifically interesting community in America. It is also the most terrifying community in America.

Carlos knows that Cecil knows this. He also knows that Cecil can't talk about this. It could get him killed.

Unfortunately, it's something Carlos sorely needs to talk about.

Conveniently--perhaps too conveniently, Carlos is aware--his new "friend" showed up just in time. Someone who knows Night Vale. Someone who knows Cecil. Someone who, despite being every bit as horrible as Night Vale itself, Carlos knows he can talk to.

As long as he wears that hood.

Carlos knows he has some ulterior motive. He knows he's trying to get something out of him, to manipulate him in some way. Up until yesterday he'd thought he'd been careful, that he'd been managing.

But he'd been _goaded_ into manifesting, and it was so _obvious_ , and Cecil probably thought he was _insane_ now.

Carlos scrolls through his texts. After his _I love you_ last night, Cecil had sent the same words back in response, but they hadn't said anything else to each other after that. Carlos wonders if he should have followed up. Maybe explained. Though he's not sure how to explain that his new "friend" was messing with his head without actually telling Cecil about that new "friend," and that is something Carlos is absolutely unwilling to do.

Honesty is important in a relationship, but until Carlos has a better handle of things here, there are four things he will not be telling Cecil:

1) The old oak doors are permanently gone.  
2) His best theory at the moment is that Night Vale has rejected him, and he might come unbound from existence--or speed up the unraveling of the universe--if he tries to go back.  
3) The rumbling has _not_ stopped being terrifying.  
4) The only person he really has to talk to is possibly Cecil's mortal enemy.

Carlos is worried enough about these things without worrying Cecil too. Especially since Cecil has plenty to worry about in Night Vale.

He squints at the horizon; the sun is starting to rise. What time is it in Night Vale now? Time has been a challenge here, since otherworld desert time and Night Vale time not only don't match up, but don't even seem to run concurrently. If Carlos isn't careful, he'll wake Cecil, or interrupt his show. Sometimes it depends on the medium of the message; emails especially seem to like arriving early, before the emails they are in response to.

He thinks he's got it mostly figured out by now, though. A text right now might be disruptive, but if his calculations are correct, a Snapchat would arrive just as Cecil is getting out of the shower. He grins, shrugs off the blankets, and stands up to take a picture of the sunrise.

_Ready for another day of science,_ he captions it.

~

Cecil hears his phone chime as he's scrubbing his hair with his favorite fluffy purple towel. "Carlos!" he says aloud, feeling a wide smile split his face. Yesterday was _weird_ , right? They hadn't had their usual evening chat, and Cecil had had trouble getting to sleep. But Carlos had obviously had something on his mind, and things would be better today, wouldn't they?

He is still smiling as he picks up the phone. "Ah!" he says. Sunrise in the desert otherworld. Very...nice. A good day for science. Well.

Cecil prefers selfies, so he takes a photo of himself, shirtless, still dripping from the shower, one hand holding the towel to his head. He inspects the image critically to make sure that 1) his smile looks genuine and 2) he looks hot before adding the caption _I'm not QUITE ready for my day yet._

"I hope that gives you something to think about today," he sniffs at the phone. He is not upset, not even a little bit, that Carlos is acting as though yesterday's weirdness didn't even happen. Because obviously it didn't mean anything. Obviously.

His phone chimes again, and his heart flutters. But this time it's a text message, and it's from Earl.

_I remembered you'd been wanting to try Tourniquet,_ it reads. _I can pull some strings and get you a table this week, if you want._

Cecil finds himself wringing his hands. _Oh,_ he types in response, _I don't think Carlos will be back this week._

_You could bring someone else. Or hey, there's nothing wrong with enjoying a meal alone. I could come out of the kitchen and talk a little, too._

_Oh, no! I could never ask you to do something so unprofessional as abandon your post. Don't worry, Earl! I can wait._

Earl's response is a long time coming, long enough that Cecil has managed to towel off and get dressed before it arrives. When it does, Cecil thinks it's awfully short.

_Okay,_ it says.


	3. Forsaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is pretty short...but this is all I've got for now. Must contemplate...

He still can't get over how ugly Carlos is.

The hood was Carlos' idea, but it's been good for both of them. Now Carlos doesn't have to see Cecil Palmer's face when they talk, and Kevin doesn't have to look at Carlos at all...the hood becomes blinders. He still has to hear that god-awful voice, grating like sand in a place that already has so much sand. But he doesn't have to see _that hair_.

He shudders involuntarily and tries to refocus. It's hard enough being here in the bloodless lighthouse, looking at artwork that is _not_ human teeth, without going down _that_ road.

The artwork isn't artwork, of course. It's like a gallery of closed-circuit televisions. Like the feed from dozens of security cameras, showing him everything going on in Night Vale. Everything the lighthouse deems important, anyway.

None of the moving pictures show Desert Bluffs. He's checked. He checks every time.

When he first had the blasphemous thought, the feeling of being abandoned by the Smiling God, he'd expected to be struck down on the spot for his traitorous lack of productivity. But nothing had happened.

The thought comes more and more frequently now.

Yes, it had been his own failure to win over the people of Night Vale--specifically, Steve Carlsberg--that had resulted in him being here. But that doesn't mean he still _can't_ win them over, probably. He is a _very_ good worker.

The work will be more difficult now, without any support structure. The angels--lurching, fearsome, terrifying--have taken over Strex. Strex made spreading the light of the Smiling God _far_ more efficient. Strex had been with Kevin even before the Smiling God. He is unsure how to proceed, exactly, without that structure.

And really there is nothing to do in this desert otherworld but watch Night Vale, and learn, and work against that horrible place in any way he can.

Because ultimately it is Night Vale that has taken everything from him, Night Vale that must be destroyed. Night Vale, and Cecil Palmer, and Carlos the Scientist. Kevin must be patient, he must be strong, he must watch and listen and learn. He will discover the truth. He will discover their weaknesses.

Keeping Carlos from returning to Night Vale seems like a good place to start. Killing him might be even better--and it would certainly be a relief!--but Kevin isn't sure yet. He thinks he'll know soon, though.

Kevin is a good worker. He is working hard.


	4. Small Victories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos gets a dig in, finally.

Despite being apart from Cecil, despite having to deal with Kevin, it is _so nice here_.

Carlos sighs as familiar guilt settles into his stomach. There isn't much to this desert otherworld. There's no permanent settlement. No Arby's. No lab. No Mission Grove Park. But there's also no City Council. No Sheriff's Secret Police. No vague, yet menacing government agency. No hooded figures.

There are, on the other hand, people. Friendly people. And he's never hungry or thirsty, and his phone always works.

This place sustains him. It _welcomes_ him. It's...

Cecil would hate to hear this, so Carlos adds it to his List of Things to Not Say to Cecil Until This Is All Sorted Out: It's like finding a home.

Until meeting Cecil, Carlos had never had a particular attachment to any location. He's a scientist. He explores and studies. He goes where things are new, where things need to be figured out. "Home" has always just been a place to hang up his lab coats, and maybe sleep.

But falling in love has changed him. For the first time, he finds himself wanting stability, wanting a place where he and Cecil can come together in the moments between pursuing their respective dreams, someplace safe and happy. Even after the fiasco with the condo, he wants it. Especially after that.

He'd thought he was growing attached to Night Vale, that he was adjusting to its "quirks", and that moving in with Cecil meant he was beginning to belong to the town as a whole.

Or at least, he'd thought that he'd thought that. But.

Kevin is right that the initial appeal of Night Vale has worn off. He's wrong about the reason. It isn't that Night Vale is no longer scientifically interesting. It's just that for the first time, here in the desert otherworld, Carlos feels...secure. Comfortable. And those things aren't _boring_ to him like they had been for most of his life.

If Carlos could snap his fingers and bring Cecil here right now he would do it. Whisk him away from Night Vale and its horrors, let him be safe and happy. Let both of them be safe and happy, together.

But Cecil loves Night Vale in a way Carlos can't understand, and isn't sure he can ever understand. Cecil risked his life to overthrow StrexCorp, but to Carlos' outsider eyes he was just trading one totalitarian regime for another. The lesser of two evils, and really only lesser because it was known.

Indoctrination? Stockholm syndrome? Carlos isn't sure, and it feels insulting to Cecil to even think those things, let alone ask. He knows Cecil is aware of Night Vale's true nature, knows that there are things Cecil thinks but won't say. Cecil is "not dumb", Carlos thinks with a small smile, remembering a broadcast from long ago.

He wonders if Cecil is thinking what he's thinking, that the "vacation" he's been asking him to take could become a permanent escape.

He can't risk asking, not until Cecil is actually here.

~

"Earl was at the station again today," Kevin says from behind that diaphanous hood.

Carlos sighs and carefully sets down the beaker--one of only a handful he had with him when he entered the House that Does Not Exist, maybe when Cecil comes he could bring some more--and turns his head just enough toward the other man to be polite. "Oh?" he says, his voice flat. "He wasn't on the show."

"But he _was_ in the studio," Kevin says. "With Cecil," he clarifies unnecessarily.

Carlos wants and doesn't want to ask the follow-up question. But after this many conversations with Kevin, he knows he's going to end up doing it, so he doesn't waste time on the internal debate. "How long?"

"For the _entire show_ ," Kevin says, and his voice is rich and full of mirth as if this is the most _wonderful_ thing he has ever heard.

Carlos can't corroborate any of the things Kevin tells him, because Kevin is always telling him about what people are doing in Night Vale when Carlos isn't watching. He can't ask Cecil, "So what was Harlan doing at the station today?" because Harlan might not have actually been there at all, and Cecil would wonder why Carlos thought he was. And he doesn't particularly feel like interrogating Cecil more subtly, either, with questions like "So, been seeing Harlan lately?" or "Do you see Harlan ever when he's not on for the cooking segment?" For one thing, those questions sound jealous bordering on desperate, and for another, bringing up Harlan would just give Cecil a reason to think about Harlan, and Carlos would rather Cecil not be thinking about Harlan when they're talking.

Carlos has to admit: Kevin's attempts to get under his skin are pretty effective.

They are not, however, going to work. Kevin is not going to distract Carlos from figuring out what the rumbling is, what the relationship of the rumbling to the blinking red light is, how to stop the universe from unraveling, and (most importantly to Carlos, somehow even more important than the unraveling of the universe) whether or not this is as safe a place as he believes it to be.

The chemistry he's doing right now has very little to do with that research, but he doesn't want Kevin to know how far he's progressed. In no small part because he hasn't progressed very far at all.

"Well," he says, choosing his words carefully, because he wants to seem like he is fine with everything, because he is _totally fine_ , but at the same time he needs Kevin to think his mind games are working. "Good for Harlan. He must be lonely."

Kevin's smirk is almost audible. "It's great that he has such a good friend," he says in a sing-song voice. "Someone with such deep connections to his past! Someone who knows him _so well_."

"Yeah," Carlos grunts, picking the beaker back up and eyeing the solution inside before adding a few drops of jet black liquid. The concoction mercifully does not explode. "It's totally great. So did you spend all afternoon in the lighthouse?"

"Un _for_ tunately," Kevin says with an exaggerated moan. "Night Vale is so _nasty_ , but a good employee works hard no matter what. We're alike, you and I, in that way."

Carlos lets out a barking laugh before he can help himself, then shakes his head. "That actually might be true."

"Oh, _everything_ I tell you is true, scientist," Kevin wheedles.

Rolling his eyes, Carlos pours the contents of the beaker over the rocks in front of him and watches expectantly for the stone to turn clear, to jut upward suddenly in complex geometric formations. It does, and he smiles. "Crystallization effect duplicated under the same conditions," he says into his phone, which is full of voice memos at this point and yet somehow _not_ full at all. Something else to investigate, sometime.

(This is something he's been debating. His phone has healed itself on one occasion. Does he dare dissect it to figure out why and how it is working the way it does? Would purposefully taking the phone apart have an effect that accidental breakage doesn't? A permanent, damaging effect? As much as he wants to understand what's happening, he wants his lifeline to Cecil more.)

Kevin makes a show of stifling a yawn, which is to say he yawns very loudly and pretends to cover it up at the end. "Oh, I'm _terribly_ sorry," he says. "This is all _fascinating_ , really."

"It is," Carlos replies, ignoring the sarcasm. "This place is...well, _malleable_ , in a way I never expected."

"Oh?" Kevin says, sounding disinterested. "Like... _how_ malleable?"

"I have a theory about that," Carlos says, "but I need to do more testing first. But I think, under the right conditions, I could make something pretty spectacular happen." It's hard not to get specific, because this is actually a very exciting idea, and it could potentially be related to the larger problems Carlos is trying to solve. But he has to remember who he's talking to.

"Great," Kevin says dryly, the word stretching into a full paragraph.

"So does the Smiling God live in this desert?" Carlos asks in an offhand way.

"Live _here_?" Kevin snorts. "The Smiling God is everywhere, in everyone."

"Is it in you and me right now?"

"...yes."

Carlos hears those ellipses as if they are spoken stage directions. He keeps his face blank.

"People must simply open their eyes to the _light_ ," Kevin continues, "and they'll _see_."

"What is the Smiling God showing you right now?"

Kevin, who up until this point has been leaning casually against an outcropping of rock, straightens and brushes down the front of his snazzy, bloodstained business suit. "The Smiling God's purposes are not for you to know," he says. "Have fun with your potions, scientist."

Carlos isn't sure, but he thinks he won that round.


	5. Insinuations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earl spends more time with Cecil.

It's unprofessional to have guests in the studio while he's doing a live show. But lately it doesn't seem like anyone cares about what's unprofessional.

Cecil holds in an unprofessional sigh and doesn't look at Earl. The sous chef has come for a visit for the second time this week, and Cecil has no idea how to make him go away.

Things are strange now. It's been so long since they were kids. They have different interests, different lives. Cecil understands the desire to reconnect--he was excited to see Earl again, too, especially after the dragged-away-by-mute-children thing!--but couldn't that happen _outside_ of work?

Although that might cut into Carlos Time. Hm.

Cecil's years of broadcasting experience are saving him from Station Management's wrath right now, because he is managing to smoothly intone news, traffic, and sports without actually thinking about what he's saying. The Sheriff's Secret Police probably appreciate that as well.

He is suddenly very pleased with himself. He is _very_ professional. He will tell Earl to leave at the next break.

Unfortunately, as soon as he's toggled off his mic for a pre-recorded ad, Earl is talking.

"Are you going to the PTA meeting tonight?"

Cecil lets himself sigh this time. "Of course. It's my duty as an uncle _and_ as a community reporter to put up with _Steve Carlsberg_ and his _horrible scones_."

"Oh, right," Earl says, "you have a niece."

"Janice," Cecil replies with a smile. "You'd like her. She's in the Girl Scouts, and she loves the outdoors."

"I'd love to meet her. Is she coming to the meeting?"

"The kids don't usually come, no," Cecil says slowly, feeling an eyebrow crawling up his forehead despite himself. "What, are you coming?"

"I thought it was about time I took more of an interest in my son's education. I have more time now that I'm not scoutmaster."

"But--PTA meetings are right during the dinner rush."

"I can take a day off here and there. It's no big deal."

Cecil literally has no idea how to respond to the idea of _taking a day off here and there_. Thankfully he doesn't have to, as the 30-second spot is ending. He taps his lips to warn Earl to shush; the sous chef suddenly looks embarrassed.

~

In a desert that is not of this world, yet seems to somehow be composed of components of this world, Carlos the scientist is sprawled out on the floor in a lighthouse, gazing at a moving photograph that is a window into Night Vale Community Radio. He watches Cecil smile and gesticulate as he reads off the community calendar, listens to Cecil's deep, soothing voice via a live stream of the show on his phone. He studiously ignores the man in the chair next to the radio host, ignores the memory of watching the two men talk inaudibly while a commercial played in his ears.

"Tonight there will be a meeting of the Night Vale PTA. There will almost certainly be dry, tasteless scones. There will also be delicious hummus with gluten-free pita chips. And good news, listeners--while I can't guarantee anything for this evening's meeting, future PTA potlucks are in for a treat. My old friend Earl Harlan is joining the PTA. As you might remember, Earl is currently a sous chef, so whatever he brings is sure to be incredible!"

Carlos rolls up from the floor. He finds that he is staring at Earl Harlan. Suddenly, his head hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, just _talk_ to him, Carlos.
> 
> I decided to give Earl's kid a gender and name, which will almost certainly be refuted at some point by canon. [Edit: Cecil doesn't know Earl's son's name in canon, so I removed it here.] Maybe I'll name his dog, too...


	6. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people come to the same conclusion: Second chances aren't often given, but when they are, you have to take them.

Earl doesn't know what he's doing.

He's sitting in his parked car outside the elementary school, turning a scout badge over and over in his hands. It's faded and the edges are raggedy but he can still make out the embroidered words "SUBVERSIVE RADIO HOST." He wonders if Cecil still has his.

There's a lot he doesn't remember.

Like Cecil, he doesn't remember the year he graduated. But he also doesn't remember how he got back to Night Vale after being dragged off by those mute children. He barely remembers the Eternal Scout ceremony, and he doesn't remember what happened after that.

All he remembers is blinking and realizing he was standing in his own front yard.

It has been a bit of an adjustment. For one thing, there is a woman living in his house now. Yusuf calls her "Mom," but Earl is _pretty sure_ he's never been married.

"Oh, of course not," she'd laughed when Earl admitted to not remembering her. "I've been here since you've been gone. Taking care of your son."

So, there's that. And really, it's been nice to have help around the house, and with Yusuf. She stayed with him when Earl was studying to be a chef. She stays with him when Earl has to work late at the restaurant. She's with him now, in fact. For awhile she seemed to have some sort of job, but lately she has been at home most of the time. She never demands anything. She just...is, and Earl doesn't ask questions.

They rarely talk about anything but Yusuf. This morning's conversation had been no exception.

"It's only right to be more involved in your son's life," she'd said over breakfast. "You're not with him in the scouts anymore. The PTA wouldn't take up too much of your time, and you'd have a real impact on his education."

It is a good idea, he has to admit. Things are better with Lauren around. He barely recalls his life before the Eternal Scout ceremony, remembers it as a blur. Now he is much more engaged. More aware. Aware in a way he hasn't been since...well, since he was a kid, growing up with Cecil.

He smiles. There is, of course, another reason joining the PTA is a good idea, but Lauren wouldn't know about that, of course.

He'd meant it to be a goodbye, what he'd said to Cecil the day of the Eternal Scout ceremony. He'd finally done the thing that scared him most in the world, even more than what he'd thought was his impending death. He'd said it. He'd made his peace.

And then he'd lived.

He'd lived, and that made what he'd said _real_. It had been a goodbye. A conclusion. But Earl had lived...so now it was a hello. A promise.

"I was going to die," he says aloud to himself. "It's not douchey when you don't think you're coming back."

He'd known Cecil had feelings for someone else. So when he returned to Night Vale, he cut ties with his old life as scoutmaster, reinvented himself as a sous chef, refused to even text Cecil to let him know he was back in town.

But Cecil had sought _him_ out. _Cecil_ had been the one to reconnect. And from what Earl has heard, Cecil had thought "often" about what had happened between them.

He can't help but feel hopeful. He'd always thought Cecil wasn't interested, but maybe both of them had felt exactly the same all along. Maybe Cecil had been just as scared as Earl.

Sucking in a breath, Earl gets out of the car. He had lived, and he is here now. Even if he doesn't know what he's doing, it seems like a second chance.

~

Carlos has decided not to look in on the PTA meeting. After all, that's what Kevin would want. Carlos is just glad Kevin hadn't been in the lighthouse to see Carlos' reaction to Cecil's show.

It was a stupid reaction. Carlos is being stupid. Intellectually, he knows this.

His intellect is fighting a losing battle against his loneliness.

He wants Cecil to be happy, and he wants Cecil to be safe. And _that_ is why he's not letting what's happening in Night Vale distract him from his work. Ideally, he wants Cecil to be happy and safe _with him_...but he can't control that outcome.

Carlos realizes his eyes are unfocused, and he focuses them. He is not letting this distract him. He is _not_.

His phone chimes.

_PTA meeting tonight,_ says Cecil's emotionless, emoticon-less message. _Be home late._

Carlos stares at the screen, blinks at it, and he knows he can't keep doing this. Things have been wrong since that last manifestation. He has to do something.

He just...doesn't want to be so _needy_.

_Cecil,_ he types hesitantly, _I'm having some emotions._

The message is barely sent when Cecil's reply comes. _Call me._

Carlos swallows and dials Cecil's number. The radio host picks up on the first ring. "Hellooo?" _Like he doesn't have caller ID._

"Hi, Cecil."

"Hi, Carlos."

Cecil's voice is so beautiful.

Carlos slumps down onto the rock he's been using as a chair today, suddenly very tired. "I miss you," he says quietly. Cecil waits. Carlos sucks in a breath. "I know I always talk about how we can still do things together. And scientifically speaking, that is true. But it's not--" He stops, sighs, starts again. "I _really_ want to see you. To touch you. To just be...like we were at home."

"I want that too," Cecil says softly.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm..."

"You're doing important work. I understand that."

Carlos closes his eyes. "Yes. And I am also...trying to be the first thing a scientist is. It's hard, sometimes. But I didn't--I don't want you to worry."

"Oh, Carlos," Cecil says in a rueful voice. He chuckles a little. "I'm afraid you don't have the power to stop my worrying."

Carlos has to laugh at that. Of course not. Another outcome he can't control. "There are so many variables," he says vaguely.

"I'm sure you'll sort them all out," Cecil replies, his voice warm, bolstering. "If you could sort out the ones involving me coming for a visit _first_ , that would be great."

A smile is spreading across Carlos' face. A real smile. It's been--well, it's been awhile.

"Cecil," he says. "I know I don't have the right to ask this. You do so much for me already. But--"

"Anything, Carlos," Cecil says. "Well," he amends, "within reason."

"No, sorry, don't worry about it..."

"Carlos. If it's unreasonable, I just won't do it. Tell me."

Carlos sighs, laughs a little. "I was going to ask you to skip the PTA meeting."

"Well, _that's_ not a problem. They've probably started by now anyway. I'm sure the minutes will be _abysmal_ , but Earl can fill me in. I can miss one little meeting, if you need me."

Carlos feels himself flushing. "Um. Can we go home?"

"Of course," Cecil says, his smile audible across the inexplicable cell network, across universes.


	7. Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two old friends have a chat.

The scientist is in a good mood today. It's very off-putting.

Kevin gives up on needling the man pretty quickly. One thing about business is knowing what to invest in. Today was not a day for investing in banter with Carlos the Ugly Scientist.

Instead, he sits in the lighthouse frowning at his fingernails, wishing there was someplace here in the desert otherworld to go for a manicure. Because _really_ , it's getting _ridiculous_.

Out of sheer boredom he looks in on Earl Harlan's house, where Lauren is baking a pie. "How the mighty have fallen," he smirks at her.

Of course, she is still in Night Vale, which means if she _wanted to_ she could go home to Desert Bluffs. She is staying with Harlan because she is dedicated to her mission from the Smiling God, and if something good doesn't happen soon for Kevin she is totally going to show him up.

This situation really is the _worst_.

If Kevin could manifest in Earl Harlan's kitchen and terrify Lauren, he would totally do it right now.

Unfortunately, for some reason, Kevin can't manifest in Night Vale. Or anywhere else. He's watched the scientist do it. He's listened to descriptions of how it's done. But he can't seem to do it himself.

Kevin is not really interested in _why_ he can't manifest. Maybe only people who have been Night Vale citizens can do it. Who knows? Who cares?

He is scowling at Lauren, despising her and her good fortune, when suddenly her head jerks up and she seems to look _right at him_.

"Oh!" Kevin yelps aloud, then laughs at himself. "How silly--"

"Kevin," Lauren says sweetly. "How are you?" And she is right next to him, manifested the way the scientist manifests in Night Vale.

Kevin shrieks. " _Lauren_ ," he splutters.

"How's the otherworld treating you, hmm?" Lauren smiles. And it's a real smile, not like the fake Night Vale smiles she's been plastering on for Earl Harlan.

Kevin matches it with one of his own, baring as many of his teeth as he can. "Oh, everything is just _wonderful_ , Lauren. I'm taking every opportunity to be as productive as possible!"

"That's _fantastic_ , Kevin! I'm so pleased you're making the best out of such a _horrible_ situation."

"You _too_ , Lauren," Kevin grins wildly. "Stuck in Night Vale babysitting for a nobody."

"Oh, you know Earl Harlan isn't a _nobody_ , Kevin," Lauren replies in a sugary voice.

"He's a useful pawn," Kevin allows. "But he's not _necessary_ like the scientist."

"With his perfect teeth and hair," Lauren muses softly.

"Ugh," Kevin mutters.

"So is it going well with the scientist? Has my work with Earl helped you along?" Lauren is giving him a patronizing look that is absolutely infuriating.

" _No_ , Lauren, I'm having to work _awfully hard_ to make it even _believable_ that Palmer has any interest in that gawky cook. And something just happened that set _everything_ back. I don't suppose you have any idea what that might have been?"

"I don't know, but Earl _was_ looking more dejected than usual when he got in last night," Lauren muses. "Why weren't you watching?"

"The scientist was using the lighthouse. I don't go there when he's there. There's...trouble, when I do." The masked army leaves Kevin alone when Carlos is experimenting elsewhere, but they are awfully particular about the lighthouse when Carlos is there, and even sometimes when he isn't. It's fortunate that they're nomadic and not always around to see when Kevin's sneaking in.

"Oh, _that's_ a shame," Lauren wheedles at him, and he hates her.

Kevin blinks. He hates her. The thought is clear, with no subconscious corrections like 'he respects her'. He just...hates her.

This is his true feeling.

He feels hollow.

"Kevin?" Lauren is saying.

"What," he grates out. It isn't even really a question. He stares dully at the kitchen of Earl Harlan's house, where Lauren is still standing, eyes unfocused.

"I said, _that's a shame_."

Kevin cuts his eyes to her manifestation and growls, "I heard you."

"It's really gone, isn't it?" she says, cocking her head inquisitively to the side. "The Smiling God doesn't smile for you anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Kevin spits.

"I can tell from your eyes," Lauren whispers, and it sounds partly like amusement and partly like horror. "Those awful eyes."

~

Carlos is hiking through the abandoned settlement nestled in the gorge beyond the lighthouse. He knows from Dana to avoid looking too closely at the orange triangles. Being a scientist, however, he can't just stay away entirely. And so he is careful as he winds his way through the gorge, keeping his eyes cast downward, contemplating spirals and soft yet painful light and bright blackness.

His phone chirps, announcing a message from Cecil. It's not quite time for the show yet, but Cecil is probably at the station by now. Carlos thumbs at the lock screen and Cecil's text appears.

_Carlos!_ it reads, followed by emoji of a parasailing donkey, a burned-out shack, and two hamburgers kissing. _StrexCorp's new owners released more prisoners from the dystopian capitalist hell days._

_They found your team of scientists!_


	8. The New Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos and Cecil make adjustments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. Kind of a segue more than anything.

In all the excitement, Carlos sometimes forgets about the communication difficulties between the otherworld and Night Vale. He sends emails chiding his scientists for not answering his other emails half a dozen times before remembering that they might not receive any of those messages for weeks. Eventually he gets used to communicating with them via text message, or calling, or manifesting in his old lab, in which they've taken up residence.

The first thing he has them do is confirm that the door at the House That Does Not Exist is truly gone. It is, and moreover, the house seems to actually exist now. This is unsurprising, but as a scientist, Carlos never assumes. And to be perfectly honest, even though his hypothesis was correct, he's disappointed.

Now he's got them working on the rocks, or, more specifically, he's got them trying to duplicate the rocks in Night Vale. This should lead to some sort of conclusion about the nature of the otherworld. Maybe. Photos don't always make it through, or when they do they look like something else, so Carlos can't send images of the rocks, their components, the components of their components, or even his handwritten notes. He's not sure he can trust anything his scientists send back, either. So they rely on lengthy text descriptions, extended chemical formulas, and complex mathematical equations, coming up against the accessibility limitations of smartphones over and over.

"This is _wonderful_ but so _frustrating_ ," Carlos tells Cecil on the phone, lying back on his sleep mat and staring at the ever-changing stars. "It reminds me of us. We can do everything we used to, we can be what we used to be, but it's not the _same_. It's _harder_. We spend so much more time just on communication now. I mean, communication is important. But I've never had to think so much about it before."

"Thinking about communicating better is a good thing," Cecil says, a note of wry humor in his voice.

Carlos laughs automatically, then sighs. "No, you're right," he says. "You're right." A pause. "I'm sorry."

"All is forgiven," Cecil says magnanimously. "Things are _much_ better now. I'm glad you have your scientists back."

~

Cecil is throwing himself into his work lately with renewed vigor. The incident with the four suns was _so embarrassing_. He doesn't know how he let himself become so unprofessional.

Earl is now banned from the studio when he's not there for the cooking segment, and Carlos has been reminded that his science reports are for science, and not, well, _science_. (Secretly, Cecil has decided that he'll still forgive a few indiscretions, because Carlos does not have a communications background or temperament, and Cecil prefers says-everything-he's-thinking Carlos to never-says-anything-at-all Carlos.)

Cecil had thought his first year with Carlos had been an adjustment: having someone else to think about whenever he made plans; needing to remember to check in with someone, and worrying when that someone didn't check in with him; doing things he never would have done on his own, like watching obscure science documentaries; compromising on where all the stuff goes, who does what chore. But compared to their new reality, those adjustments seem almost simple. Just as they'd started to build a life, everything had changed. It is almost like starting over.

And looking back, Cecil can see that adjusting to Carlos' presence and absence isn't all that's been going on. His life feels shaken up, disorganized, and it seems like only now is he discovering how to shake it the _right way_ so that all the little pieces fall into happy positions. "Work/life balance" is how the StrexCorp employee handbook had referred to how a good employee balanced their time. Of course, to Strex, the scales tipped pretty far toward the former. And if Cecil is honest with himself, his personal scales always tipped that way too, before Carlos. His problem now is that he's gone too far the other way.

So Cecil is resolved. From now on, work will be work, and home will be home. He won't let his personal life affect his vital duty as community radio host.


	9. Not-So-Oblivious Cecil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos gets up the courage to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happens before BRINY DEPTHS. (Obviously I am diverging from canon already, as I have named Earl's son. At least I guessed correctly that it was a son!)

One night, when he's run out of things to say about the rocks, and the skeletons, and the stars, and the cacti, and the masked army, and he and Cecil have lapsed into silence, warm and comfortable and together, Carlos curls a little tighter into the bedroll he is pretending is Cecil and says quietly, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Cecil says, his voice low and soft and gentle. "Unless it's something the City Council doesn't want you to ask."

"No...I don't _think_ so, anyway," Carlos says thoughtfully.

"Then by all means."

"It might be stupid, though."

"I strongly doubt you would ever say anything _stupid_ ," Cecil says. "Innocent, yes. Adorably ignorant of basic, elementary knowledge--yes." He coughed a little and pressed on. "But if it _is_ stupid, I promise I won't laugh."

Carlos chuckles briefly. "Thanks," he says. "Okay. So...here's the thing. I think...I think Earl Harlan has a thing for you."

Cecil is quiet for a long moment, and then, "Was that the question?" he finally asks.

"Oh," Carlos says. "Yeah, I guess."

"I'm not sure how to answer," Cecil says, and his eyes roll up in thought. "I mean, yes, he does."

"Wait, what, you _know_?" Carlos sits up, all tiredness from the day gone.

"He's felt that way for a long time," Cecil says, "but I only remembered it recently. It's funny how you drop out of touch with people, and you forget things."

"What a thing to forget," Carlos breathes, without thinking.

Cecil flushes a little, visible even on Carlos' small phone screen. "Well, I never felt the same way. He was my best friend. I didn't think of him like...well, like anything other than my best friend. So I tried not to worry about it much. I guess I was hoping it would just sort of...go away."

"Hm," Carlos says. "It's just...sometimes, the way you are with him, it seems like...flirting."

"What?" Cecil yelps. "Oh. Oh, Carlos. No. I'm happy to have him back in my life. To be _sure_. He..." Cecil drops his voice to a quick whisper. " _He reminds me of things._ But no, no, I'm sorry, I never meant to seem like I was... _flirting_. Oh. Do you think _he_ thinks I'm flirting?" Cecil buries his face in his hands.

Carlos laughs. Loudly, and for a long time, until tears start to form at the corners of his eyes. He feels light, as light as he always feels when he finally figures something out.

"Carlos," Cecil admonishes him, face still in hands, peeking out from between his fingers.

"Sorry," Carlos says, and makes a valiant effort to pull himself together. "Um. He might."

"Oh, this is _awkward_ ," Cecil says. "I do care about him, and I would love it if we could be friends, but if he feels that way, maybe spending time with him is just...cruel, or something? Like I'm leading him on. I mean, what do I do? Do I _say something_? Do I just...stop spending as much time with him? I was trying to play dumb whenever he said anything...I hoped he would just get the hint."

For this, Carlos has no response. He has never been never great at relationships; his usual strategy when something isn't working is to just leave. Obviously, that isn't an option in ths case. Unless, of course, Cecil moves here to the desert otherworld.

"I don't know," he says finally. "Maybe Old Woman Josie has some advice."

Cecil brightens. "That's a great idea," he says. "I'll talk to her tomorrow."


	10. Drink to Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan goes awry.

"I have _totally screwed this up_ ," Earl mutters to himself. He is crouched in front of the closet in his bedroom, staring into the trunk where he keeps his old scout uniforms, the circuit boards he built as a kid, an array of knives that need repairing, his first chef's apron...and a recent acquisition that he is now seriously rethinking. This is his treasure box, and that last item is the most treasured of all. But it isn't actually his yet, may never _be_ his, and he was presumptuous to claim it so early.

He remembers, vividly, watching from across the room, hoping Cecil won't see, thanking all forces he can think of--supernatural and otherwise--that the man is so oblivious he'd apparently forgotten why he was even there.

Fondness fills him, manifesting as a soft warmth in his cheeks, a pleasant twisting in the pit of his stomach, and a silly smile twitching onto his lips. He sighs at himself, closes the trunk, rises to his feet, and slides the closet door shut.

Lauren is sitting on the couch reading the newspaper when he returns to the living room. She glances up at him. "Not looking forward to the PTA meeting?" she asks, in a voice that might be interested and might not. Earl is never sure.

"I...guess not," he says. "But I'll still go," he adds quickly. He has never seen Lauren upset, but somehow he never wants to. "I want to take a more active role in Yusuf's life."

"I know you do," Lauren replies. "Would you like some coffee to take with you? I just made some; it's in the kitchen."

"Thank you," Earl says. He's not that into coffee, but Lauren is good at making it, and...hmm, Earl knows someone who _is_ into coffee. "Yeah, I'll take some."

~

"Oh, Earl," comes a distressed, yet sonorous--not to mention familiar--voice from just beyond the front door, " _what_ did you put in that coffee? You should really save your drinking to forget for when you're at home."

"Damn it!" Lauren hisses, ducking down the hall just as she starts to hear a fumbling rattle of keys.

"Which one is it, Earl? Does your door require a sacrifice?"

A long moan is the only response. Lauren rolls her eyes. Harlan is useless. Absolutely useless.

The lock clicks. "Oh, there, I got it. All right, come on."

Harlan's front door swings open, and Cecil Palmer shuffles through, supporting what appears to be most of Harlan's weight. The sous chef is feebly stumbling along beside the radio host, head lolling to the side, arms slack. Palmer is managing pretty well, considering; he doesn't appear to lack the strength for the task. Lauren is once again reminded that Palmer isn't one to be underestimated. He looks pretty average...well, honestly, he looks like Kevin, and Kevin is a spineless weakling. But Palmer is something else, something more, even as he tends to blend into the background.

He's dangerous, and in a way that makes him too important to simply kill.

Lauren forces herself not to glare at him from the darkness of the hallway. Even the least perceptive person in the world would feel uncomfortable being stared at--a fact she'd taken great pleasure in while working with Kevin--and Palmer would almost certainly notice. She stills, controlling her breathing and watching the men only in her peripheral vision.

"You just need a good night's sleep," Palmer is saying as he drags Harlan into the living room. "Let me...um. Well." He glances around. "Surely the couch will do." He comes to a stop, bending so that Harlan slips from his shoulder, guiding the man's sagging body down onto the sofa. "Um. I don't know if you have any blankets out here. But...it's not that cold, right?" Palmer steps back, surveys the way Harlan's form is collapsed across the cushions. "Are you comfortable?"

Harlan's eyes are closed and his mouth is drooping open and Lauren thinks she sees spittle. _Ugh_.

"Well," Palmer says again. "I'll just..."

But he doesn't just. He stands there. He stands there for a very long time.

Lauren is suddenly very aware of the tension in her body: locked knees, tight neck, hunched shoulders. She slowly attempts to relax, closing her eyes and concentrating on remaining absolutely silent. _You need to leave, Palmer_ , she thinks as she reopens her eyes.

But Palmer is pulling out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen. After a moment, the device starts buzzing in his hands.

"Carlos," Palmer says, raising the phone to his ear. "I took Earl home from the PTA meeting. There was something in the coffee he was drinking. He's not really responding to anything I say. And he can't seem to move. But he's breathing. I think he's okay? But I'm afraid to leave him alone."

 _Damn it_ , Lauren thinks.

"I don't know. It's kind of like he's drunk, but I'm not sure."

Palmer has begun pacing around the room, but he stops suddenly. "Oh. Oh, no. I didn't think of that. I should have taken him to the hospital, then." He pauses to listen to the scientist again. "Yes, of course. I'll take him now. I love you. I'll text soon."

Lauren seethes as Palmer lugs Harlan back out the door. As soon as she hears the lock tumblers click into place, she charges down the hall to the room she'd claimed as her own so many months ago. She might have been able to completely reverse the drug's effects if Palmer had just _left_ , but now there won't be time. If she can get to the hospital soon, though, she should at least be able to tweak them, redirect them.

"Smiling God," she remarks in a peppy, sing-song voice that is not strained _at all_ , "I'm _so grateful_ you find me worthy enough to test like this. _Thank you_."

~

When Earl wakes up, there's a woman standing next to his bed. And it isn't his bed, or his room. He's...at Night Vale General, apparently.

"What happened?" he croaks, and blinks at the roughness of his own voice. "Are you a doctor?"

The woman gives him a tight, pensive look. "A nurse," she says finally. "You'll be fine. You should be released in a few hours. I'm told your son is waiting at home for you."

"...my son?"

Earl drags a hand down across his face. There's something familiar about that, something familiar about this woman, too, but as he tries to pin down _what_ , it all scatters to distant corners of his mind.

"Yes." The woman is gazing intently at him now. "What do you remember?"

"I remember...being 19. I remember...I was a scoutmaster, and now I'm a sous chef. I remember how to cook. I..." He swallows, looks away from the woman's cold, measuring eyes. "I remember Cecil," he says, quietly.

"Very good," the woman says crisply. "Best wishes to you, Mr. Harlan."

Then she is gone, and Earl is alone with what's left of his thoughts.


	11. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which something is lost.

"There's not much you _can_ do," Josie says, frowning at her teacup. "Bringing it up would put him on the spot. It might make you and Carlos feel better to settle things right away, but this isn't _about_ making the two of _you_ feel better, is it?"

Cecil sighs and shakes his head. "I don't want to hurt Earl," he says. "I just wish he didn't feel that way."

"Well, there _are_ rites," Josie says.

Cecil stiffens. "No," he says primly. "That...that is not something I would ever do. To anyone."

"The mind _is_ a dangerous thing to get mixed up with," Josie says, sounding like she's agreeing, though Cecil doesn't think she understands what he means. "Someone seems to be mixed up with yours," she adds, indelicately.

Curling around his teacup, Cecil stares at the floor. "Well," he says. "Carlos and I have a theory about that." He glances up. "About that card--"

"Erika didn't know you didn't know what you were doing," Josie assures him. "Erika doesn't know everything."

Cecil nods quietly. This is reassuring, yet not.

"Any idea who?" Josie asks.

"I didn't see who won the auction," Cecil says, not bothering to explain. Josie has probably worked it out for herself. "It could be anyone. The auction records were lost when the piñata was deployed. It could be anyone."

_It could be anyone._

Tea with Old Woman Josie isn't settling anything in Cecil's mind at all. He's still in limbo with Earl, and now he's thinking about Lot 37 again.

"Thank you," he says, replacing his cup in its saucer. A tall, resplendent being that Cecil refuses to acknowledge whisks both items away to the kitchen.

Walking out to his car, Cecil sighs, "Carlos," then catches himself before adding, _why can't you just be here?_ After all, the scientist could be watching right now, and even if he can't hear, he might be able to read Cecil's lips. Carlos is doing important work in the desert, and there is a _reason_ he can't come back, and just because Cecil is too afraid to ask what it is doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Cecil will be strong for Carlos, just as Carlos is being strong for Cecil.

Some time later, Cecil realizes he is parking in front of Earl's house.

~

"Um," says the radio host sitting on Earl's couch, and Earl's stomach flips. "I wanted to, to talk. To you. About something."

"Oh?" Earl says, as casually as he can, which is not casual at all.

"You might be the only one to really understand," Cecil says. "I mean, most of us have things we can't remember. But I have things... _recent_ things. And that's--it's not normal, it's not the government protecting me and the town, it's _different_. It's me doing things I don't know I'm doing, and I don't know _why_."

Earl deflates, just a bit, and glances down the hallway, toward his son's room. The boy is working on a transceiver for his Subversive Radio Host badge. Earl wishes he and Cecil were in there with him, helping him, teaching him together.

"But I think I know _how_ ," Cecil says urgently, and Earl's eyes snap back to his. "There was...an auction. And. One of the...items, was 'Cecil Palmer.'"

Earl swallows against a suddenly dry throat.

"I think whoever bought that...item...is controlling me with it," Cecil finishes in a rush, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I have _no idea_ who won the auction. Even though I was _there_!"

"Why--why do you think that? Maybe something else is happening," Earl stammers.

"It's the only thing we could think of," Cecil says, twisting his hands together. Earl wants to be next to him on the couch. He starts to rise from the chair. Abruptly, Cecil's nervous motions cease. "Carlos and I discussed it a great deal. It's the only explanation that makes sense, scientifically, given the evidence we have."

Earl lets himself drop back into his seat, but the tension does not leave his muscles.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" the former scoutmaster asks quietly.

"I--I don't know," Cecil admits. "Maybe...just keep an eye out? Let me know if you hear anything? And...maybe watch me, or stop me, if you see me acting without my own will?"

"We're not together all that often, Cecil," Earl reminds him.

"Oh, no, you're right," Cecil murmurs, and does not invite Earl to spend more time with him, or ask if he can stay with Earl while he figures things out. Earl swallows a deep sigh.

"I'll do what I can," he says.

~

When Cecil is gone, Earl strides quickly to his bedroom. He goes to the closet and digs out the trunk.

He doesn't remember much of the past few months. He remembers standing on his front lawn. He remembers training to be a chef. He remembers his silent son, though not well.

But there is one memory he has clung to, one rash decision that may very well have destroyed everything.

He remembers winning Lot 37.

Earl opens the trunk and looks inside. Pulls everything out. Turns the trunk over and shakes it. Tears through the rest of his closet. Rifles through his dresser drawers.

He knows that it was here. He knows that at one point, he possessed Lot 37.

And now he does not.

~

It disturbs him, what Lauren said. It disturbs him more than he wants to admit.

Something has been wrong ever since that Steve Carlsberg fellow had mistakenly flung _him_ through the door instead of going through himself. He is so _funny_ , that Steve Carlsberg! He seems so levelheaded, like he understands everything, and then he goes and does a silly thing like that. Kevin would be happy to help him, happy to make him see the light of the Smiling God...

But Kevin himself can no longer see that light.

It's taken him a long time to admit it. He'd thought that maybe the Smiling God was busy elsewhere, and was just lying dormant in his mind until he was needed again. But it has been so long.

And then Lauren said the thing about his eyes.

Kevin has looked in the mirror plenty of times since he's been here. He's looking in one now. And his eyes are just normal eyes, like they've always been. But Lauren saw something different. Something missing.

What was Lauren seeing that Kevin wasn't? Is something actually gone? Or is something _there_ now, that wasn't before?

And why does it feel so much harder to smile?


End file.
